


The Questionable and Often Traumatizing Breakfast Habits of Superheroes

by bordello_blues, resurrection_en_menthe



Series: Business As Usual [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, Gen, Hawkeye is special, Loki Does What He Wants, Post Movie, SHIELD Husbands if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bordello_blues/pseuds/bordello_blues, https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrection_en_menthe/pseuds/resurrection_en_menthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in Avengers Tower changes the day that Tony discovers fanfiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Questionable and Often Traumatizing Breakfast Habits of Superheroes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own, blah blah blah, the usual.
> 
> We may or may not have written this through text message. By 'may or may not,' I mean that we absolutely did. I don't know if I should be more worried or proud (probably the latter), but it is what it is.

Everything in Avengers Tower changes the day Tony discovers fanfiction. That’s not to say it didn’t change after New York, when they became a team and moved in; or when Thor returned from Asgard with an irritable, scowling Loki in tow; or when the questionably mad god and equally mad genius started screwing like extraordinarily energetic rabbits. Things are always changing at the tower, for better or for worse, it’s generally the former. Take Loki and Tony, for instance; they expend so much energy on each other that Loki rarely takes the time to plot anymore, and Tony slowly becomes just a little bit less guilt ridden. So everything is good, mostly, barring missions gone awry and grievous bodily harm and the occasional green rage monster rampaging through the tower. The day Tony discovers fanfiction, though, everything changes again, and nobody can really tell if it’s a good thing.

It starts out innocently enough, just an off-hand comment here and there, something to make Steve blush, which is one of Tony’s favorite past times, coming in a close third behind tinkering in his lab and screwing Loki on any and all surfaces imaginable (they’re still in the ‘honeymoon’ stage of their relationship). Over time, it escalates, and Tony takes to sneaking pages upon pages of explicit material into Steve’s mission files. It never fails to amuse him, because Steve will continue reading until he comes across the first mention of sex, at which point he has a tendency to sputter and turn the color of a particularly ripe tomato. Loki doesn’t point out that the super soldier occasionally slips excerpts into his pockets for further perusal in private.

This morning, the Avengers, plus Loki, are in the kitchen. Tony has coffee in one hand, phone in the other, an ‘E’ rated Shield Husbands (they really do get the best ship names, he thinks happily) story pulled up on the screen. It’s not that he’s particularly attracted to either, though they’re both good looking guys, but smut is smut, and Tony has already gone through all the tolerable Frostiron out there.

“Heh, penis,” he snorts, at a particularly juicy bit. The conversation goes silent as Steve chokes on his coffee – some dribbles down his chin. Loki gives Tony a vaguely confused sideways glance and lifts his eyebrow a few scant millimeters. Across the island, Clint giggles. With a long-suffering look, Bruce grabs his mug and heads back to his lab.

When Tony blatantly ignores him, Loki comes up behind him and rests his chin on one of the man’s shoulders, first peeking, eventually reading the text scrolling across the screen. He smirks, and shoots a calculating glance at Clint.

“It says here, Barton, that you’re a greedy slut for Coulson’s cock. I have harbored suspicions for a while,” he muses. Loki also manages to make it sound absolutely filthy and extremely regal at the same time. 

Clint chokes on his coffee and goes bodily flying into the counter when Thor good-naturedly pounds him on the back. At the breakfast nook, Natasha patiently and quietly attempts to explain to Steve (for the umpteenth time) what fanfiction is. Her ability to make the entire phenomenon sound like any typical SHIELD mission debrief is worthy of honors. _And another Purple Heart for Capsicle, for sitting through the whole thing without running for the hills_ , Tony thinks to himself offhandedly. That would have to be later, after he surrenders his phone and watches Loki read more excerpts of the fanfiction.

To Clint.

Who is progressively turning from red to white to purple to not Hulk-green (yes, that’s a color in the household) but a fetching I’m-going-to-vomit-from-mental-trauma green.

Loki doesn’t blush, and the evil glint in his eyes goes only darker, as the fanfiction goes from simply explicit to absolutely filthy. Even Thor, who has been ignoring them, seems to be growing uncomfortable, though he is much more focused on his second box of Pop Tarts - Tony has started buying them wholesale. For his part, Clint is glued to his chair, eyes bugged out, lips curved into a horrified grimace at the latest paragraph; and Tony actually shoves a fist into his mouth to stop himself from hysterical laughter. The scathing look Loki sends him says, ‘I dare you to laugh and ruin this,’ then goes back to reading in a manner so unaffected and nonchalant Tony is forced to remember that his lover is, in fact, a god.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but nobody has moved, and Tony occupies himself with watching Loki’s mouth shaping around words that they usually reserve for the bedroom. Or the living room, or the kitchen counter, or his lab. Oh, who is he kidding? They have thoroughly christened most of the surfaces in the tower, and some outside of it, too. The rest of the Avengers, bar Thor who has made a sandwich in which both bread and filling are Pop Tarts, seem to be lingering due to a combination of terrified amusement and masochistic curiosity. The spell is only broken (and maybe that’s what it was, Tony wouldn’t put it past Loki) when Fury walks in, takes a look at Earth’s Mightiest, nearly all of whom are shaking and suffocating from repressed laughter (except Clint, who is wheezing and possibly having an aneurysm), and slams a stack of files on the kitchen island. Loki spares him a disinterested, cursory look and opens his mouth to continue.

He is interrupted by a quiet cough from the doorway, and a perfectly composed Coulson saying, “I’d appreciate if you didn’t inform everyone of what Mr. Barton and I are up to behind closed doors, Mr. Laufeyson.”

It’s Loki’s turn to look mortified.

“Ha! Suck it, Loki!” Clint manages to sputter.

(Tony absolutely doesn’t say, ‘Oh, he does.’ Except he does. Very quietly. Under his breath.)

Clint raises his left hand, waiting for Coulson to respond.

“I don’t high five.”

“But you were—“

“No.”

“It was so—“

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if I actually did all those things? To you?”

Agent Coulson remains briefly silent, during which Tony is pretty sure the world stops spinning and atoms stop moving and all those things Schrodinger wasn’t certain about are made certain.

Finally a reply: “Still no.”

“Come on,” Clint wails. His hand remains raised, a sad little flag, as the rest of the Avengers finally succumb to their laughter and become again a flurry of conversation and activity.

Chin held so high it’s verging on ridiculous, Loki sniffs (Tony is amazed at how _icy_ he makes it sound) and shoves the phone back into Tony’s hands.

“Come on, Agent,” Tony says – he still refuses to call Coulson by his given name, an annoying habit Loki has also picked up – fumbling the phone and barely managing to rescue it from a painful death on the kitchen tiles. It earns a muttered, ‘Earth’s Mightiest, indeed,’ from both Fury and Loki, who glare daggers at each other. “You gotta admit, some of that was pretty hot, and you need to get the stick out of your ass.” He waggles his eyebrows in Coulson’s direction, “Replace it with something else.”

He doesn’t expect the arrow that comes flying at his head (and where did Clint even pull the bow from?). Expects it even less when it transforms, midair, into a hot pink, comically oversized dildo and smacks him right between the eyes. Loki smiles beatifically, everyone else – only just recovering from their laughter – bursts into hysterics again. Even Fury can’t keep the smile off his face. Much as he’s grateful to the God of Mischief (and if things continue in this manner his _erstwhile_ lover) for saving his life, Tony hates being the butt of the joke.

 _Heh. Butt_. He thinks.

“No one try to explain what was going on before I came in,” Fury says, timed just-so to cut off Clint, who is still looking both despondent about the unreciprocated high five and still green. Natasha shoots her partner a look, emphasizing the words of their commanding officer.

Not that Loki cares what it means.

“Fanfiction, Director. Apparently the swarms of fans who adore _Earth’s Mightiest Heroes_ ,” the last few words laced with as much acid and vitriol as possible, “Cannot be satisfied by the parades, television interviews, or paraphernalia purchased with your ridiculous plastic money. Their needs are more… Carnal.”

The beginnings of a giggle are cut brutally short by the quick, precise thwack of a fist into a solar plexus. Natasha’s fist. Clint’s solar plexus.

“Why we even let him live here,” Clint gasps out, even though he can barely breathe. Ever since Loki moved in, life in Avengers Tower has been rife with practical jokes that verge on terrorism. Clint gets the brunt of it. Mainly, Loki claims, because he is so easy to get a rise out of. Tony (and he’d never actually say this to the god) thinks it’s because Loki may be just a touch scared of most of the rest of the inhabitants, and actively screwing the remainder, which is Tony.

“You can keep an eye on him,” Fury grits out, at the same time Thor happily exclaims, “He’s my brother!” Tony, with a wink and grin in Loki’s direction, says, “Technically it’s still my tower, and we have really amaz—“ Loki wiggles his fingers, and while Tony’s mouth is still moving, no sound comes out.

Bruce chooses that moment to wander back in. Refilling his coffee cup he thumbs through the files, and glancing at Tony drily notes, “That’s a handy trick. What’s the mission?”

In spite of his predicament Tony keeps talking, and judging by the look on Natasha’s face (she’s an expert at reading lips) they should be glad that he’s been put on mute.

“It strikes me, Director,” Loki says acerbically, ignoring the change in topic instigated by Bruce, “That these ‘shippers,’” he even makes air quotes, _bless his evil little heart_ , Tony thinks, “Rarely, if ever, write about you.”

Natasha makes a move towards him, probably to execute one of her impressive flying kicks, or something of the sort, but Loki vanishes in a swirl of gold and green. He reappears behind Tony, who is still rambling and adding some wild gesticulation into the mix to get his point across.

“I,” Loki continues, unapologetically using Iron Man (sans suit – not as effective) as his human shield, “Am a highly redeemable villain.” Not necessarily true, but still. “You,” and he sneers, green eyes sparkling with mirth, “Are just a massive dick.”

 _Heh. Dick_. Tony thinks.

Loki snaps his fingers.

“—gtied in the middle of the bed, ring on my dick – just waling on my ass and I swear to god I can feel his cock in my fucking throat. That’s how de…ep.” Tony grinds to a jarring, high-pitched halt and actually ( _actually_ ) blushes. Loki, gently patronizing, pats him on the head.

Briefly, there is chaos: Clint covers his ears and starts screaming something about TMI and bleach and a wire-brush; Steve goes first cross eyed, then red, then all the blood drains from his face and he slams his forehead on the table; Thor chokes on a Pop Tart, it is unclear whether it’s caused by Tony’s words, or by the fact that he’s eating four at once.

“I think you broke them,” Loki gloats. Tony elbows him and gives a, ‘You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, bucko,’ look even if it’s a blatant lie. Of the rest of them, Bruce looks mildly scandalized, and slightly Hulk-green around the edges, which isn’t a good sign. Natasha, Fury and Coulson just look extremely unimpressed. It must be a SHIELD thing, Tony thinks, which still doesn’t explain Clint. But Clint is _special_.

“Great,” Fury growls, irritably glaring at all members of the Avengers (plus Loki, the damned instigator), most of whom seem to be out of commission, “I’ve put the fate of the world in the hands of overgrown, super-powered five year olds.”

“He didn’t mean you, Natasha,” Coulson says apologetically, “I’ll take this one to the Fantastic Four, shall I?”

“Do it.” With that, Fury storms off in a swirl of creaking leather. Coulson follows soon after, but not before sending a calculating, not-so-subtle look towards Barton.

“The Son of Coul is wooing you,” Thor garbles, crumbs of pastry spraying from his mouth.

“How shockingly perceptive of you, brother,” Loki jeers venomously.

Reaching for a fresh mug of coffee, Tony just shrugs; it’s business as usual in the tower.


End file.
